


Perks of Screwing an Angel

by Helianthus21



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Sex, Angelic Grace Kink (Supernatural), Blasphemy, Bottom Dean Winchester, M/M, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2019-11-05
Packaged: 2021-01-23 06:01:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21315355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Helianthus21/pseuds/Helianthus21
Summary: Dean always imagined sex with an angel to be a boring, vanilla affair. Cas is more than willing to prove him wrong.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 14
Kudos: 252





	Perks of Screwing an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> implied Crowley/Demon!Dean at the beginning. but very much up for interpretation.

Crowley once said – in an attempt to remind him of their ‘summer of love’, how Sam so hilariously put it – that the angel was never gonna be enough to satisfy him.

_“Angels are pure. Choirboys with halos. The most you’re going to get is a waltz. With demons, you tango.”_

And the thing is, Dean believed him. He couldn’t get it into his head that Cas would be anything other than gentle in bed. Slow and soft in all the right ways. Most times that thought was enough to get little Dean going.

But other nights, he craved it a little rougher, a devil in the sheets to let off some steam.

Choosing Castiel, he thought, meant saying sayonara to that special kind of excitement in bed and hello to married missionary sex with your socks still on.

But –

“Angels are warriors,” Cas growls, licking a salacious stripe up the underside of his dick as he oh so diligently proves him wrong. “Soldiers,” he adds, tongue making a detour around Dean’s balls and Dean arches his back at the touch. “We have a mission and we pursue it thoroughly. Vigorously.”

\- But this. Yeah. This is a thing.

A thing in which Cas is testing the validity of the phrase 'suck your brains out', Through, you know. Dean’s dick. An experiment that seems to produce excellent results because Dean can’t form a single coherent thought other than, _“KEEP GOING uhhhhg! Don’t stop!”_

What Crowley hadn’t considered was that the tongues of angels are hella fucking convincing for a _reason_.

The first orgasm rolls through him and Castiel wastes no time to move on to the main course.

Another perk of angel sex? You don’t play by the rules of human libido anymore. One spark of Cas’ grace to Dean’s pelvis, and the show can go on.

Prepping Dean is a task Cas takes very seriously, and that’s one area where he won’t budge. _“Your comfort is important, Dean,”_ he says whenever Dean urges him to just _get in there already!_ A demon would’ve just taken what’s rightfully theirs for a night and Dean would’ve loved it.

But patience is a virtue and Dean’ll gladly call himself a saint if only to reap the rewards of this divine service.

Dean’s loose and lax in more than one way once Cas finally gets this show on the road. It feels like forever until Dean has taken all of him, it always does. His asshole deserves a goddamn award just for that.

Cas is hung to say the least.

Those extra inches Crowley sold his soul for got nothin’ on him.

Once it’s all in there, Cas is a fucking machine. Perks of sleeping with a guy who doesn’t tire out? He never, even for a second, loses steam on you.

Dean gets nailed into the mattress like he’s an effigy Cas needs to get absolutely right and all he can do is grip the sheets between his fingers and hold on for dear life. He doesn’t even need to do anything. Just lie there and take it.

And he’s absolutely fucking okay with that.

Because Cas? Cas sure as hell knows what he’s doing.

“Fuck,” Dean says, more than a little breathlessly, because that’s what his train of thoughts has been reduced to – an angel’s ceaseless pounding will do that to you. “Nice guys don’t fuck like that.”

A smirk appears on Cas’ face, and it’s unfair how perfect he still looks despite all the exertion. There’s barely a drop of sweat on his forehead.

“Yes, they do,” he attests.

Dean’d want to swipe the smugness off his face if it weren’t so attractive.

And if it weren’t so absolutely earned.

Minutes, or hours in – it can’t be expected of Dean to keep track at this point – the sensory overload starts to fill Dean up just as much as Cas’ cock already is. If Cas working his hole tirelessly wasn’t enough, the guy’s also got something extra to give that Dean swears makes him see Heaven As It Should Be: his grace.

Then it gets to the point where Cas himself gets lost in the act – and afterwards Dean can never, for the life of him, tell what exactly he did to reduce Cas to that state, the answer to that question he’s sure is the answer to the truth about the universe because something between Dean moaning and thrashing like a pro and letting Cas take everything he has to offer’s gotta to do the trick. In any case, Dean knows to start the countdown to the big O when spurts of electrifying grace light up his entire being which Dean can only describe as several orgasms wrecking through his body all at once.

Things get hazy from there on out.

The bed, as well as the wall it gets knocked into at every other thrust are wiped from the plane of existence that makes up Dean’s new universe. The weapons attached to the wall above the headboard follow suit. Dean doesn’t care. Because they’re not important anymore.

The lamp on his nightstand that blows up on Cas’ next thrust? Replaceable and what’s it matter? _This_ is Dean’s life now for the nearest future. All that exists is Cas' cock pistoning in and out of him.

Dean’s pretty sure his ears are ringing, or maybe that’s just Cas’ grace singing to him, prophesizing Dean’s Second Coming. Or Third, or Fourth, who can keep count?

All the while Cas is drilling into him, pouring him full of divine grace and wrath and purpose and all those good things, and Dean could live like this forever. Let Cas take care of him like this ad infinitum.

He’s floating among stars and nebulas and circling a black hole and riding a shooting star towards earth.

And always.

Always.

It’s Cas who pulls him back down.

His fingers loosen their tight grip on the bedsheets and Cas’ upper arm respectively, and he opens his eyes to find the angel inches from his face, brushing sweaty strands of hair from Dean’s forehead.

“Okay?”

Dean’s brain needs a moment to recalibrate and his voice a glass of water to return. As though Cas read his mind, he’s producing one out of thin air and placing the rim of the glass to his lips. Greedily, Dean swallows it down in one go.

“If you’re,” Dean says between breaths he begs to come more steadily. “If you’re asking about your performance, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

Lines of confusion appear on Cas’ forehead and it’s so cute Dean can’t believe this dork is the same one that turned into a sex machine just moments before Dean found Paradise. “It was good then?” He wants to make sure.

Dean builds up the required strength to lift his head and kiss Cas on the nose. “More than,” he assures. “Fuck, I think I even blacked out for a second there.”

“One minute and forty-two seconds,” Cas clarifies, and, figures.

In a way Dean’ll dispute to his dying day, a string of embarrassing giggles rushes out of his mouth at that. “Shit, Cas, you well and truly rocked my world.”

Touched by an angel, Dean feels as pure as it gets. There’s not even any spunk left on their skins: yet another angel perk, go figure.

There must be a permanent grin plastered on Dean’s face, and he doesn’t even care how lunatic he probably looks right now. Shoving at Cas’ chest, he rolls the angel off of him and follows right after, laying his head down to rest right over Cas’ heart. It beats a steady rhythm against Dean’s ear, lulling him to sleep.

Fingers brush through Dean’s hair, then lower, tracing a warm line down Dean’s spine. He smiles and sinks deeper against Cas’ chest.

Forget tango, Dean thinks.

He'll apply for a life membership of the heavenly choir, and gladly, if that's what it gets him.


End file.
